


The Truth is Out There… WAY Out There

by Arionrhod, McKay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The X-Files
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 08:24:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11009646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arionrhod/pseuds/Arionrhod, https://archiveofourown.org/users/McKay/pseuds/McKay
Summary: FBI Agents Mulder and Scully investigate reports of a werewolf roaming rural Virginia, and the evidence points to a certain wizard...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2010.

_October, 1999_

“Don’t you think this is a little trite, Mulder?” Frowning slightly, Dana Scully looked up from the file folder she’d been reading, oblivious to the spectacular foliage of the trees outside the car windows. “Werewolves. In Virginia. Just before Halloween. I think someone has been watching too many old movies on cable or something.”

“Or it could be a local variation on a creature like the Jersey Devil,” Mulder replied, sparing a brief glance away from the road. “The timing does seem to favor werewolves, though.”

Scully shook her head and gave her partner a look of fond exasperation; they’d worked together far too long for her to be surprised by anything he suggested, no matter how outrageous it was. “So that means you saved it for just this occasion, right?” she asked dryly. “Either that, or Skinner has developed a sense of humor. I suppose you can guess where I’m putting my bet.”

“Well, I had to come up with something we could do to celebrate Halloween.” Mulder quirked one eyebrow at her, his expression mischievous. “You take all the fun out of going through spook houses when you give a running commentary on how they’re doing everything.”

“I can’t help it if I have a hard time suspending my disbelief,” Scully protested, even though she knew he was twitting her. She enjoyed seeing his enjoyment in the teasing, and the twinkle in his eyes did interesting things to her heartbeat. But they were on assignment, and she was professional enough to keep things from getting too out of hand. “Besides, in most of those places, you can _see_ the wires. Maybe it would be different if they actually made an effort to make it look less fake.”

“We can’t all be Steven Spielberg,” Mulder said, and then the teasing demeanor faded into something more matter-of-fact. “Anyway, the locals have reported hearing strange noises centered around an abandoned farmhouse outside a small town in a largely rural area of Virginia. Most people seem fine with chalking it up as a haunted house, but what I find intriguing are the reports of howling in the woods near the farmhouse, a sound heard only during the full moon.”

“It could be any number of things,” Scully replied, giving a slight shrug. Haunted houses were nothing new for them, and they’d even investigated a manitou back when they first started working together; that was close enough to being a werewolf, she thought, and the same reasoning applied. “A dog, a fox, certain birds... even a prankster.” She chuckled. “‘Fess up, Mulder. You probably know someplace around here that gives out great candy on Halloween, right?”

Mulder shot her a look that managed to combine virtuousness with indignation. “This happens to be a legitimate case, Scully,” he replied. “If it was just howling, I wouldn’t have brought you out here, but there have been reports of animals being killed, even a couple of horses and some cattle. People in the area are starting to get worried, and wolf-man rumors are circulating, which is why we’re on our way there.”

Closing the file, Scully leaned back in the seat. “I’ll bet you a steak dinner it turns out to be teenagers covering up a rural crime spree,” she said. “Joy-riding in some farmer’s field, hit a few animals with a pickup and covered it up with werewolf stories. Same thing we’ve seen a hundred times before.”

“You’re on.” Mulder stretched out his hand without taking his eyes off the road. “Just keep in mind I want a steak dinner with all the trimmings.” He glanced over at her briefly. “And a bottle of wine. If you play your cards right, I might get tipsy and let you take me home.”

Without hesitating, Scully took his hand and shook it briskly. “You should be so lucky, Mulder,” she said, even though her toes were curling in her shoes at the thought. “Besides, you aren’t going to win. The closest thing we’ll find to a werewolf on this case will probably feature Lon Chaney, Jr.”

“You never know.” Mulder flashed her a small, secretive smile. “Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night may become a wolf when the wolfsbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright.”

That smile hit Scully like a ton of bricks, and she had to draw in a deep breath before she could speak. “With your degree, you should know that from a psychological perspective, lycanthropy is simply a metaphor for men repressing their violent sexual proclivities,” she said in as normal of a tone as she could muster.

That coaxed an amused snort out of Mulder, although his attention seemed more focused on the exit ahead; they were leaving the highway at last, turning off onto a road designated only by a generic number. “Are you saying we’re all cavemen with a thin veneer of civilization, or are you changing your vote from drunk, joy-riding teenagers to a crazed sex offender?”

“Is there a difference?” Scully asked tartly, and then she looked out of the windows at the tall trees lining both sides of the road. “Well, this is certainly the back of beyond, isn’t it? Hard to think that there are still places like this so close to Washington.”

“It gets better,” Mulder replied, and in a few minutes, he showed her exactly what he meant by that cryptic remark when he turned off the nondescript road and onto something that could barely be called paved. “We’ll stop at the farm first, even though I don’t think we’ll find out much more than the sheriff put in his report, and then we’ll head to the house.”

Scully nodded, and a few minutes later, Mulder pulled up in front of a gate. A sign overhead proclaimed “Derry Dairy”, and Scully sighed. It was going to be a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

“The house is another quarter mile or so ahead.”

As predicted, the stop at the crime scene had yielded nothing more than the information they’d already had: the animals had been mauled horribly, and the farmer had heard howling in the distance that had raised the hair on the back of his neck. Now they were headed toward the supposedly haunted house that Mulder seemed certain housed their furry perpetrator. No matter how hard she peered, however, Scully couldn’t see any kind of structure yet, just overgrown fields and the disintegrating remains of old tobacco barns. In the distance, she could see the forest line, and after another minute or two, she finally spotted a dilapidated farmhouse ahead.

“Let me guess: you looked it up on satellite maps?” Scully asked, taking in the sagging roof and overgrown vegetation choking the front yard. “If there’s a werewolf living here, I feel pretty sorry for him. It’s a wonder the place is standing; it looks as though a puff of wind would blow it over.”

“Obviously, he didn’t huff and puff and blow the door down.” Mulder pulled up in front of the house and parked on a patch of dead grass. Squinting, he peered out the windshield at the house. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a long time, but I guess a werewolf would only need a get-away cabin in the country once a month.”

“Ha ha.” Scully unfastened her seatbelt, and then she opened the door and got out. “It’s a waste of time, I’m sure, but we might as well have a look around.” She leaned back down to look through the open door at Mulder. “Besides, I want to stretch my legs and work up a good appetite for that steak. I’m thinking filet mignon. A _big_ filet mignon.”

“Don’t count your steaks before they’re cut.” Mulder unfolded his long, lanky frame from the car and stretched as well. “We haven’t even started gathering evidence. If we find some kind of unidentifiable fur caught on a nail, I’ll expect dessert, too.”

Scully couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Tell me you’d be able to identify _any_ kind of fur, city boy,” she replied, closing the door and starting forward, eager to look around and be done. “Just be careful not to get into poison ivy, okay?”

“I _do_ know what that looks like,” he replied, sounding aggrieved as he skirted around the back of the car and headed for the rickety front porch. “At least I think I do,” he muttered, just barely loud enough for her to catch it. 

Scully smiled, falling into step slightly behind him as they headed toward the house. The cracked, broken remnants of paving stones made a path through the knee-high weeds, and she was more than happy to let Mulder break the trail, brambles catching at the legs of his slacks. Despite her doubt about the merit of this case, her abilities as an agent were finely honed by years of experience, and her survival instincts immediately had her scanning for threats despite the abandoned air of the place. She and Mulder had been in far too many situations where the seemingly innocuous had turned hostile in the blink of an eye.

No sound came from the house, which looked as though it had sat abandoned for at least twenty years. Faded and peeling paint of a now-dingy white still clung to some of the woodwork, while the boards of the porch were warped with age. Surprisingly, the windows she could see were all still intact, although the screens hung in tatters from their frames. Behind the streaked and dirty glass of the first floor, she could make out what looked to be lace curtains.

“Looks like my joy-riding teenagers avoid this place,” she said, keeping her tone low. “Which is odd; most of the time, abandoned places like this are naturals for target practice. Even ones reputed to be haunted.”

“This place looks remarkably well preserved,” Mulder noted as he stepped onto the porch and peered around. “Peeling paint and old floorboards aside, I’m not seeing any signs of rot, mold, or insect infestation.” He ducked abruptly and swiped at his face, grimacing. “Except spiders. Lots of webs, but no visible termite damage.”

“Hmmm...” Scully nodded in agreement, and then she frowned and pointed at the front door, visible behind a tattered screen door that hung haphazardly from a single hinge. “That’s a rather sturdy looking lock for what’s supposed to be an abandoned shack,” she said. “I get the feeling someone wants people to take this place at face value and move on without looking too closely, don’t you?”

Mulder frowned slightly, his features taking on that intense expression she was all too familiar with, the one that meant his wheels were turning. “So not teenagers,” he said slowly, although it sounded as if he was more musing than rubbing it in. “I didn’t check the paperwork on the property. We could find out who owns it and contact them to see if they use the house. For all we know, they’re planning to open it up as a spook house, and this is all an advertising gimmick.” He paused and gave her a look that bordered on a smirk. “That, or we could knock on the door and see if a werewolf really does live here.”

“I doubt that anyone rational would resort to killing cattle and horses as an advertising gimmick,” Scully replied, grimacing in distaste. “Rationality, of course, is a commodity in short supply when we’re called in.” Then she grinned at him, her blue eyes suddenly challenging. “But by all means, go ahead and knock, Mulder. I assume you’ve replaced your normal bullets with silver ones just for this occasion, and I suspect they’re burning a hole in your gun, right?”

“I’ve learned to be prepared,” Mulder replied cryptically, and he wasted no further time in stepping up to the door and knocking on the frame of the battered screen door. “FBI!” he called out. “Is anybody in there? We just want to talk.”

Scully waited a few moments, and then she shook her head. “I don’t think anyone is going to answer,” she said. Stepping closer, she peered into one of the windows to see if she detected any movement, but as far as she could see, nothing was stirring within. She shot Mulder a sideways glance, her eyes betraying her amusement. “I don’t even hear any barking.”

Mulder shot her a sidelong look in return, his expression deadpan. “It’s daylight,” he said. “They wouldn’t be furry yet.”

“Oh, of course,” Scully replied dryly. “Too bad lycanthropy was a separate specialization in medical school. Alas, I suppose we’ll have to either come back after dark or go into town and do our research the old fashioned way. After all, we have to resolve this one way or another, since there is steak riding on it.”

Mulder glanced at the door again, and then he nodded with seeming reluctance and stepped away. “Back to town it is, I guess.”

“Don’t sound so depressed. I have no doubt you’ll find a reason for us to come back here again and find out what’s inside.” Scully patted him on the back and smiled mischievously at him. “And who knows? If there are werewolves in the woods, maybe there will be a vampire in town. Or at least some zombies. You like zombies, don’t you?”

“Only in the theoretical sense,” Mulder replied as he loped down the porch steps and headed back to the car. “I wouldn’t like having one going after my brains.” He paused and shot her a warning look. “No comments.”

Eyes wide in faux-innocence, Scully blinked at him. “I wouldn’t dream of making a comment, Mulder,” she replied, and then she opened the car door and slid into the seat. No, she wouldn’t make a comment _now_ , but she was definitely going to file the starving zombie retort away for future reference.

* * *

Upstairs, in the front bedroom of the house, a hand drew back, allowing the curtains to fall closed. The unexpected visitors were gone, but he wondered why they’d come in the first place, and he wished that he could have heard their conversation after the first loud announcement of who they were. Surely they couldn’t have linked him to the dead animals or traced him to the house! That was one reason why this area was so perfect, or so he’d thought; the Muggles around here didn’t believe in things like Wizards and werewolves, and they’d chalk anything unusual up to wildlife or coincidence. From the outside, this was just another abandoned house, slowly decaying for want of care.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his greying hair, wondering if it was time to move on. He was tired of running, tired of being driven out, of never belonging. No, running away wasn’t really an option this time, but he didn’t know if he might make things worse if he finally decided to make a stand at last. Perhaps they would go away and not come back. That was a hope he had to cling to, because after almost forty years of running, he literally had nowhere else to go.


	3. Chapter 3

“We don’t have things in a computer yet,” the clerk apologized as she led them down a row of filing cabinets. With grey hair tucked up into a neat bun and tiny lensed glasses perched on the tip of her nose, she completely looked the part of keeper of the dusty stacks of ledgers and files in the City Hall basement. The town dated back to before the Revolutionary War, she’d told them proudly when they’d asked about property records, and it was quite believable. No doubt there were even skeletons down here, those poor lost souls who’d come before them, looking for some document and becoming lost in the seemingly endless rows of records.

“They were supposed to pay for a computer and a scanner last year, but the town council decided to spend the money on a taller fence to keep the deer out of the cemetery. We’ve had terrible problems with deer lately. They’re into everything. And the bucks are mean this time of year. Mating season, you know.”

“I can imagine,” Scully said, raising a brow at Mulder behind the woman’s back. “Don’t deer make some pretty interesting noises during mating season? Like barks and howls?”

“I doubt anyone around here would mistake a buck’s mating noises for howling,” Mulder replied, shaking his head. “So don’t start visualizing that filet mignon yet.”

Scully looked as though she wanted to say something, but then she caught herself and shrugged. “We still haven’t ruled out foxes and coyotes... or real wolves, for that matter,” she said quietly. “They aren’t completely extinct in the wild.”

“But they don’t tend to live in farmhouses,” Mulder pointed out. “Or venture near settled areas. Anyway, we’re here for some information about a rural property,” he said, turning his attention back to the clerk, and he provided her with the address, such as it was. “Can you tell us who owns that property?”

“Let’s see. That’s way out on the county road, but it still falls under our jurisdiction,” the woman replied. She stopped in front of a filing cabinet, reading the labels on the drawers before finally opening the bottom one with a sigh. “Maybe that computer wouldn’t be so bad, after all.”

“Here, let me help,” Scully said, crouching down next to the drawer. The folders within were neatly labeled, some with typed addresses but others, apparently older, were handwritten. She found the one with the farmhouse’s address and pulled it out. “This must be it. It’s pretty thin, though.”

“We record when the properties are bought and sold, and when the person paying the taxes changes, mostly when the property passes as an inheritance,” the clerk explained, and then she smiled at them. “I’m going back upstairs to get a cup of tea. It’s cold down here. Just put the file back when you’re finished, all right?”

“Okay. Thanks for your help.” Mulder nodded politely to her as she disappeared upstairs, and then he turned back to Scully. “Well, let’s open it up and see what we find.”

“All right.” Scully placed the folder on the top of the cabinet so that they could both see and flipped it open. “Look at this: the property record goes all the way back to the 1790s. Mr. Donegal Whitman. Then to his son, then to his son...” She ran her finger down the column of names and dates. There were no records of sales beyond the original grant of land from the Commonwealth of Virginia, only a succession of Whitmans who had taken over paying the taxes. She flipped to the next page, which was filled about three quarters of the way. “Ah. Eloise Whitman, with the address still listed as the farmhouse, and after that...”

“Lupin!” Mulder didn’t bother hiding the triumphant note in his voice. “Look at that, Scully. It’s a sign.”

“A sign?” Scully snorted in disbelief. “Sarah Lupin, Oxford, England? What’s that a sign of?”

“A sign that werewolves aren’t out of the question,” Mulder said patiently, tapping Sarah Lupin’s name. “How could anyone named Lupin not be connected to werewolves? It’s practically flashing in neon at us.”

“That’s ridiculous, Mulder!” Scully sighed and shook her head. “It’s far too obvious. Even if werewolves did exist - which they don’t -” she gave him a stern look, “- why would one advertise their presence in such a way? It’s also the name of a flower, you know. By your logic, people would you’re a rotting corpse and that I’m a disembodied head.”

“Only if they couldn’t spell.” Mulder folded his arms across his chest, his features set in stubborn lines. “I’m just saying it’s a little too convenient to be coincidental to me.”

“Too convenient to be coincidental?” Scully blinked at that, and then she sighed. “I know that look, and you’re not going to let this go, so let’s move on. Sarah Lupin is in England, right? So that means to find anything else about that house, we’ll have to contact her. If she’s still alive. You’ll notice the date on the transfer is twenty-five years ago.”

“This isn’t over yet,” Mulder said, still looking determined as he picked up the folder, closed it, and tucked it under his arm. “Let’s see if the clerk knows anything about the Whitmans or the Lupins.”

“All right.” Scully turned and headed back toward the stairs, her expression resigned.

The clerk was sitting at the desk where they’d first met her, sipping a cup of steaming tea and filling in a crossword puzzle in pen. She glanced up with a smile as they approached. “Well, that was fast. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“To a point,” Mulder replied, offering a polite smile. “We’ve reached a dead end, though. The property was passed from an Eloise Whitman to a Sarah Lupin, whose last known address is in England, according to the records. I don’t suppose you have any other records for either of them?”

The clerk frowned thoughtfully. “I remember Eloise Whitman, although she died over twenty years ago. The Whitmans used to be a big family around here. An old one. My mother used to talk about them, but I think they all died out. I might have a copy of her death certificate, but that probably wouldn’t tell you much.” She tapped her pen against the crossword for a moment, and then she suddenly smiled. “What you need to do is go talk to the Weird Sisters. They collect local lore and gossip, so if anyone would be able to tell you, they probably would.”

“The Weird Sisters?” Scully blinked in surprise. 

“Oh, that’s not their real name, just... well, sort of a nickname they’ve gotten. They own a craft store and bakery two blocks down on the right. You can’t miss it.” She lowered her voice. “They aren’t really sisters, either. Personally, I think they are rather, um, discreet ‘partners’,” she motioned in the air as though framing the word in quotation marks, “if you get my meaning. But around here, of course, no one would dare ask!”

Mulder appeared quite interested in this information, but he didn’t comment, retaining his professional demeanor valiantly. “We’ll have a chat with the Weird Sisters, then, and maybe pick up some cupcakes for later. They do sell cake, right?”

“Oh, yes.” The clerk nodded vehemently. “Cakes are their specialty. They’re both quite passionate about cake.”

“At least it’s a lead,” Scully said, her expression conveying long-suffering patience in the face of what she obviously believed to be another wild goose chase. “Thank you for your help. Come on, Mulder; let’s go find out which one of us is right.”

“Just don’t expect me to buy your cupcake as a down payment on dinner,” he replied, keeping the file folder tucked securely under his arm as they headed out. “When it comes to cake, it’s every agent for him or herself.”

“That’s fine, I can wait for my steak,” Scully replied, stepping outside and turning right as the clerk had instructed. She raised a brow as she looked at the purloined folder. “I do hope you’re planning on giving that back. It’s a historically important set of documents.”

“Right now, it’s evidence,” Mulder said firmly. “I’ll return it after we’ve concluded the investigation.”

Scully acknowledged that with a nod, glancing around at the shops which fronted on the main street, which was practically the only street, since the town wasn’t very large. Still there were an assortment of antique shops, a general store, a doctor’s office, and even a quaint cafe. Then, as the clerk had described, was the store that could only be the one belonging to “the Weird Sisters”. It wasn’t just the surprisingly delicious aroma of baking which emanated from the place that indicated they’d found the right place; there were a variety of knitted garments displayed in the front window, which proudly proclaimed the place to be “Cut and Pastry”.

“Oh, great,” Scully practically groaned. “No doubt their senses of humor are right up your alley, Mulder.”

Mulder did indeed look amused, and he quickened his pace as they approached the shop’s entrance. “I like them already,” he said dryly as he opened the door and stood aside to let her precede him inside.

Scully did, her eyes widening as she noticed the rainbow array of yarn which filled the front area of the shop. There were built in cubbies along one wall, from floor to ceiling, all of them stuffed full of skeins of all colors, sizes, and textures, and overflowing baskets stacked in front of those. “Oh, my,” she said faintly, then paused and sniffed. “I smell chocolate.”

“Anne makes chocolate cakes to die for.” A woman seemed to pop up from behind the counter which was placed just beyond the yarn. Red hair almost the same shade as Scully’s was drawn up into a bun on the top of her head, with what appeared to be a knitting needle stuck into it, and she smiled at them in welcome. “Hi, I’m Lynne. Welcome to the shop. Let me know if you need any help, but you can look around all you’d like.”

“Actually, we’d like to ask you and your... partner some questions,” Mulder said, pulling out his badge and showing it to Lynne. “The clerk at city hall said you two know a lot about local folklore and history.”

“Oh! Yes, yes we do,” Lynne said, looking at his badge with wide eyes. “Just a moment, I’ll get Anne. She’s not going to believe this!”

With that, she turned and hurried to the back of the shop, which held a cozy looking area with overstuffed sofas and chairs and small tables. Several women occupied the area, chatting as they knitted, crocheted, or worked on cross-stitch projects. Behind them was another counter, this one obviously serving the bakery, and there were cases displaying a variety of cakes, pies, cupcakes, and other sweets. Lynne ducked behind a curtained off area, and she re-emerged a few moments later.

Following close behind was another woman, a short brunette with a wide silver streak framing her face, her dark eyes wide behind her glasses.

“FBI?” she asked, looking Mulder and Scully up and down. “Really?”

Mulder obligingly showed her his badge. “You’re Anne?”

“Yes.” She folded her arms across her chest and stared haughtily up at him. “Anne McKay. What brings the FBI to our shop?”

“The clerk at City Hall said that you two are knowledgeable about the old families and history of the area,” Scully replied. “We are looking for some information on a family that seems to have died out in the area, but they used to own an old, abandoned farm outside of town.”

Lynne looked at Anne and seemed to relax slightly. “Well, we should be able to do that, don’t you think?” she asked her partner. “Should we all go have a seat at the back, or is this private? Be aware that anything you say in front of anyone around here will probably be all over the county in about five minutes.”

“Private,” Mulder said without hesitation.

Anne nodded, her demeanor softening a little, and she beckoned for them to follow her towards a door behind the counter. “We have an office in the back,” she said. “We can talk privately there.”

“All right.” Scully nodded, falling into step behind Anne.

Lynne motioned to one of the women in the back, and then she pointed to the front of the shop. The woman nodded, and then Lynne followed them into the small room, which held two desks, each with a computer and a comfortable desk chair. There was also a sofa, and Scully sat down, looking around at the neat book cases and variety of knick-knacks on the shelves, which ranged from statues of science-fiction characters to tiny knitted pumpkins. 

“So, who are you interested in?” Lynne asked, rolling a chair from behind one of the desks and settling into it.

“The Whitmans and the Lupins,” Mulder said as he took a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. “We’re investigating the rumors of a werewolf in the area, and we went out to the property where people have claimed to have heard howling. Does anyone live there currently?”

Anne glanced at Lynne and shook her head. “Not that I know of. Have you heard anything about it?”

“No,” Lynne replied, frowning slightly, as though perturbed that something interesting might have happened that she hadn’t heard about. “That place has been empty as far as I know since Eloise Whitman died. The place has been rumored to be haunted for... what, forty years or so?” She raised a brow at Anne. “Before our time, at least. Anne wrote to the Atlantic Paranormal Society to try to get them to come out to investigate, but so far they haven’t seemed interested.”

“Eloise Whitman left the place to a woman named Sarah Lupin,” Mulder said, leaning forward toward them as he listened intently. “Does that name mean anything to you?”

“Oh yes.” Lynne nodded. “Sarah would have originally been Sarah Whitman, Eloise’s younger sister. She married an Englishman named Lupin and went back to England with him.” She glanced at Anne. “Wasn’t it after they visited here with their little boy that the werewolf rumors first started?”

“Right about then, yes,” Anne affirmed. “It was slightly before my time, of course,” she added with a lofty tilt of her chin, “but the stories have circulated regularly since about 1967, especially around Halloween.”

“Do the Lupins still visit?” Mulder asked, pausing just long enough to shoot a knowing look at Scully, one that was tinged with a hint of triumph.

Scully only raised a brow at him, the scientist part of her obviously not convinced by such circumstantial evidence. “There was no evidence of anyone having been at the farmhouse in a long time,” she pointed out.

Lynne smiled at her partner, and then she looked back at the agents. “No one has been there in at least twenty years as far as I know,” she answered. “Eloise died in 1975, I believe it was, and it was rumored that her restless ghost was haunting the property. The Whitmans have had that land practically forever, you know, and they were always a bit... well, odd, according to the stories. Kept to themselves and were supposedly rather secretive sorts. All kinds of rumors rose about the family over the years, including one that they’d moved here after having an ancestor pressed to death in Salem for being a witch.”

“They didn’t practice... uh... selective breeding, did they? Was their family tree more like a trunk?” Mulder asked, looking dubious, and it was obvious he was thinking about the Peacock family.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Anne assured him quickly. “Their family tree had plenty of branches, so to speak. They were just a little eccentric, that’s all.”

Mulder nodded and seemed to relax at that. “What else can you tell us about the Lupins? The last known address for Sarah Lupin is in England. Do you know if she’s still there or if there’s any way we can contact her?”

Lynne shook her head, her expression regretful. “I’m afraid she’s dead,” she said quietly. “What we’ve been telling you is all stuff that happened long before we moved here, but old Mr. Farrish at the tax office told me that not long after Eloise died, paperwork sent to her sister was returned marked ‘Deceased’, but they can’t do anything about the property because of some trust that was set up to pay the taxes in perpetuity. I wish we knew more, but... well, we like hauntings and ghost stories and legends, so we’ve gathered what we could find out, which admittedly isn’t much and is often contradictory. For instance, opinion is divided about who the werewolf actually is. Some say that he came from England with the Lupins, and others claim he’s Eloise’s illegitimate child. But we’ve not traced things to England, and we don’t know anyone who...” She stopped suddenly, and looked at Anne. “The sexy voice! It’s a long shot, but do you think it’s worth asking him?”

“The sexy voice?” Scully looked between the two women with a frown. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on sending us to a ghost for information!”

Anne actually loosened up enough to laugh at that, and she shook her head. “No, the sexy voice is attached to a flesh and blood mortal. He’s only a couple of doors down, actually. Unless he’s switched his schedule, he’s usually there from just after lunch through closing. Just head on over to the cafe and ask for Stephen Prince.”

“Why would he know anything about the Lupins?” Mulder asked, and Anne shrugged.

“He’s English.”

“That’s like saying I’m on a first-name basis with the president because I’m an American,” he pointed out.

“A local woman leaves her property to her sister, who has an English husband, and another Englishman just happens to move _here_ , a small town in the ass-crack of nowhere,” she said, her tone sardonic. “Seems a little too coincidental, doesn’t it?”

“Mulder loves coincidences,” Scully replied, giving her partner a challenging look. “I suppose if this Mr. Prince doesn’t know anything, we’ll need to just file this in the ‘unknown’ folder.”

“I wish you _would_ find something,” Lynne said wistfully. “Anne loves werewolf lore, and it would be too awesome to really have one in the area.” 

“Definitely!” Anne nodded vehemently, becoming more animated than she had during the entire conversation. “Having conclusive proof that a supernatural being actually exists... Can you imagine the implications?”

“Yes,” Mulder said, his expression admirably deadpan.

“Well, thank you for you help, and we’ll let you know if we do find anything,” Scully said, rising to her feet. “Let’s try to find Mr. Prince, Mulder.” Her tone implied _and get this done so I can have my steak_.

“You’re welcome. I just wish we’d been able to tell you more,” Lynne replied, rising as well. “In fact, I’ll take a look through the stuff we’ve collected and see if there’s anything else. We have some old newspaper clippings about the werewolf rumors.”

“That would be helpful, thanks.” Mulder nodded as he stood up and fished a business card out of his pocket, holding it out to Lynne. “Meanwhile, if you think of anything else, here’s how to contact me.”

Anne remained seated as she watched them prepare to leave. “If we find anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thanks.” Scully smiled, and then she turned and left the office. She waited until they were outside again before turning to Mulder. “Weird Sisters indeed.”


	4. Chapter 4

“I need one risotto and one order of stuffed mushrooms,” Severus barked as he added the ticket to the queue and listened for a response.

“Yes, chef!”

Satisfied that the appetizer station was listening and scurrying to fill the order, he turned his attention back to the vegetables he was sauteeing. After a little over a year, he’d finally got this kitchen running like he wanted it; everything was neatly organized, and the staff were competent, which meant he could focus on the food, even experimenting with new dishes occasionally.

Being the executive chef of a small cafe in a small town in the States wasn’t where Severus thought he would end up after the war. He hadn’t really thought he would survive at all, but he had, and so had Remus, who was the reason he was here in the first place. It was foolish, perhaps, but he found himself at loose ends, free to do as he pleased for the first time in almost twenty years. The problem was, he didn’t really know what he wanted to do other than be with Remus, which was as impossible now as it had always been. Still, he didn’t have anything else better to do, and leaving Hogwarts and the wizarding world behind meant he could start over anew and perhaps put the ghosts of his past to rest.

Thus he’d followed Remus from England, keeping a covert distance, and settled down when it appeared that Remus was staying put in this small town in Virginia. He’d forged a diploma from culinary school and an impressive resume, and he’d gotten the head chef’s position easily; he’d found a flat to rent within walking distance of the cafe, and he found himself in a good position to keep an eye on Remus without rousing Remus’ suspicions in the process.

Oddly enough, he was content. He enjoyed cooking, and his efforts were far more appreciated here than they ever had been at Hogwarts. Instead of bored students staring at him with glazed-over eyes, he had a dining room filled with customers eager to taste his food. Even in the off-season, people traveled from neighboring towns to eat there simply because of him, which meant he had job security as well.

But it wasn’t just getting the recognition he felt he rightly deserved that made him content. He was near Remus, too. There was little he could do, given he knew Remus wanted to remain anonymous and alone, and he didn’t want to give Remus any reason to bolt, but he could keep an eye on Remus and make certain both Remus and his secret remained safe, and that would do.

Immersed in his work, he barely glanced up when the door swung open and the owner, Lorainne, poked her head into the kitchen. “Stephen, there’s a couple of people here to see you,” she said.

“I’m busy,” he replied. No doubt it was a couple of admirers who either wanted his recipes or to gush at him, and he preferred not to be interrupted while he was cooking.

“They’re FBI agents.”

 _That_ got his attention, and he snapped his head up, fixing her with a puzzled frown. “Why do they want to see me?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged and shook her head. “They wouldn’t tell me. I took them to my office. Do you want me to tell them to come back when your shift is over?”

“No...” Severus turned off the heat under his pan and wiped his hands on a dishtowel, knowing curiosity would drive him mad if he had to wait. “I’ll talk to them.”

He smoothed his hands down the front of his black chef’s jacket, which went with his loose black drawstring trousers and black Crocs - a rather different look than his robes, but standing for hours in a hot kitchen demanded that he pay more attention to comfort than to style. He did miss the billowing effect, however. After a moment, he followed her back to her office and stepped inside, sizing up the two agents.

“I understand you wanted to see me,” he said, keeping his voice and expression neutral.

One of them, a red haired woman, eyed him in a clinical fashion, her blue eyes seeming to take in every detail. “I’m Agent Dana Scully of the FBI, Mr. Prince,” she replied, holding out her identification toward him. “Hopefully we will only need a moment of your time. My partner and I are here investigating an attack on livestock about a week ago. I admit it is a bit of a stretch coming to you, but we’ve hit a dead end. Is there any possibility that you’ve ever heard of a family named Lupin? The trail leads back to England, but that’s all we know, other than that they are connected to a now deceased local family named Whitman.”

It took the skills Severus had honed over the course of two wars not to betray the surprise and dismay he felt at hearing the agent mention that name. He had tried to quell the rumors, but he supposed it was inevitable. He still wasn’t certain how Remus had managed to get out that night, and he was annoyed anew at his own inability to provide the Wolfsbane Potion, even covertly.

“Our island is small, but it isn’t that small,” he replied tartly. “We don’t all know each other.”

“So you never met Sarah Lupin or her husband?” the other agent, a tall and not-unattractive man, asked.

“No, never,” Severus said with complete honesty. 

Agent Scully nodded. “We knew it was a long-shot, but thank you for your time, Mr. Prince.” She glanced at her partner. “We can contact Scotland Yard if you still want to pursue this, Mulder.”

“All this over some livestock?” Severus asked, genuinely amazed that the FBI would take an interest in the case.

“It isn’t the livestock angle that interests me, Mr. Prince,” said Mulder. “It’s the rumored cause of death of the livestock.” Mulder looked him up and down with studied casualness that didn’t fool him for a moment. “I don’t suppose you know of any werewolves in the area.”

“Don’t be absurd!” Severus folded his arms across his chest and glared at the agent, ignoring the frisson of alarm rippling down his spine. “There isn’t any such thing.”

“But you’ve heard the rumors,” Mulder persisted, and Severus waved dismissively.

“Of course. It’s a small town. Everyone has heard the rumors. Hearing isn’t the same as believing, however.”

Scully nodded, but then she spoke up in defense of her partner. “It’s our job to investigate things which appear to be out of the ordinary,” she said, in the tone of someone who had probably had to give the explanation a few hundred times. “And to provide scientific explanations.” She paused, and then she continued with a bit of reluctance. “When possible.”

“The only thing out of the ordinary around here is the fact that two FBI agents have come to town to ask about werewolves,” Severus replied acerbically.

Mulder gave a noncommittal grunt, and while he said nothing, he didn’t appear convinced by Severus’ assertions.

“Well, then, I suppose that’s all we have,” Scully said. “Sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. Prince. Thank you for your time.” She glanced at Mulder. “Shall we go?”

“Yes,” Mulder replied, shooting one last dubious look at Severus, who stared back at him dispassionately. “It looks like this really is a dead end after all.”

Scully nodded, and then the two agents left the office. Severus moved to the doorway and watched them go, his eyes narrowed dangerously. He and Remus had survived two wars and a sociopathic dark wizard; he would be damned if they were undone by a couple of Muggle government agents. He hoped they would give up and move on, but he intended to keep tapped into the grapevine until their taillights disappeared in the distance.


	5. Chapter 5

“Well, at least we got a very good lunch out of the trip,” Scully said as she and Mulder exited the cafe. After the interview with Stephen Prince, they’d decided to have a meal and review everything to make certain they’d covered everything they could. It wasn’t hard to read Mulder’s disappointment, and Scully felt bad for him, but there wasn’t really any help for it. There simply wasn’t any evidence that what had occurred was anything more than a wild animal attack.

“It wasn’t that good,” Mulder said, a grumpy note in his voice. He’d shoved his hands deep in his pockets, and his shoulders were hunched, which were both clear signs of his annoyance with the situation.

“Well, my quiche was excellent,” Scully replied. She was torn between amusement and fond exasperation, not an uncommon combination of emotions when Mulder began to look and act like a small boy who was irritated with the world. “Let’s head back to D.C. and see if there is another case for us. Maybe one with aliens this time.”

He shot her a look that said he knew she was humoring him, but before he could say anything, the door of the bakery opened, and one of the Weird Sisters darted out, heading straight for them as if she’d been looking for them.

“We found something,” Anne exclaimed triumphantly, holding up a newspaper clipping.

“What?” Mulder perked up immediately, his expression hopeful.

“Well, back in the day, people paying visits to a small town were pretty big news,” Anne replied, seeming to fall into an almost teacherly demeanor. “Local gossip columns often reported when people came to town, and luckily for us, that tradition was still practiced when Sarah Lupin came to call on Eloise Whitman.” She held out the clipping, smiling proudly. “We found the name of her son.”

“Really?” Scully was surprised and more than a little impressed that Anne had managed to come up with the elusive information so quickly. “What is it? Perhaps we’ll be able to trace the family after all.”

Mulder took the clipping from Anne’s hand and skimmed it briefly before reading it aloud. “Remus,” he said, turning what was almost a smirk on Scully. “Her son’s name is Remus Lupin.”

“Weird, huh?” Anne said, not bothering to hide her grin. “I mean, what are the odds?”

“That doesn’t prove anything!” Scully protested. “I know enough about the myths of werewolves to know they have to be bitten. So if you’e thinking the son is the werewolf, then he would have been named before he was bitten!”

“Assuming his name wasn’t changed after the bite,” Mulder pointed out. “It could have been a warning.”

“It would be _really_ strange and coincidental that someone who just happened to be named Remus Lupin just happened to be bitten by a werewolf, so I’m willing to bet his parents changed his name,” Anne said, nodding somberly.

“A name isn’t evidence that someone is a werewolf,” Scully said stubbornly. “And the name change makes even less sense. Why would someone want to stigmatize their child that way? Assuming there even was such a thing as werewolves... which there _isn’t_.” Scully didn’t like having to refute illogic with half-logic, and claiming that a werewolf would have his name changed to Remus was question begging if she’d ever seen it. “Nor is there even any evidence that this Remus Lupin has been back to the area since he was a small child, so presuming he’s the one who committed the attacks is definitely going out on a limb!”

“We just found his name,” Mulder said with annoying patience. “We don’t know where he is, so for all we know, he _could_ be in the area. It’s worth investigating, I think.” He paused, appearing lost in thought for a moment. “I’d like to do some research on Remus Lupin, and I’d also like to come back here during the next full moon. Maybe Lupin is our werewolf and maybe he isn’t, but our best chance of finding out what’s really going on will be on that night.”

Scully wanted to smack her forehead, but if she knew Mulder - and after seven years and everything they’d been through, she knew him as well as she knew herself - it would take nothing short of a miracle to dissuade him from returning at the full moon. “All right,” she said reluctantly. No doubt they would simply end up running halfway across the county, chasing shadows, but it wouldn’t be for the first time. And when nothing happened, Mulder would find something else to chase after.

“Can we go with you?” Anne piped up hopefully, but Mulder shook his head.

“It wouldn’t be a good idea,” he said, and her face crumpled. He seemed sympathetic to her disappointment, because he added, “But we’ll keep you up to date with what we find.”

“And if you learn anything else in the meantime, please let us know,” Scully added. “Let’s go, Mulder. Skinner is probably wondering where we are and why we aren’t back yet.” Which was a bit of an exaggeration, but it might be the only way to budge him before he decided they had to remain here to make sure nothing changed before the full moon.

“Will do! And next time you come to town, the cupcakes are on us,” Anne replied before turning and heading back to the bakery.

“Hey, free cupcakes, Scully,” Mulder said, sounding much happier than he had a few minutes before. “That’s worth coming back for, right?”

Strangely enough, Scully’s mood had also shifted from what it had been before Anne brought them the newspaper clipping. “Maybe,” she said morosely. “But they’d better be damned good cupcakes.”


	6. Chapter 6

Severus turned the kitchen over to his sous chef and headed out, intending to take his dinner break, but his exit was halted when he spotted two faces he’d hoped never to see again in the dining room. Muttering a subtle “see me not” charm, he positioned himself behind an artificial tree near the table where the two FBI agents were sitting, straining to hear their conversation.

“It’s _not_ a wild goose chase,” Mulder insisted. “Remus Lupin is presumed missing, not officially dead. It’s entirely possible he left England and came here.”

“Yet the State Department has no record of his entry,” Scully replied. “Nor did we find him listed as a passenger on any airline flight or ship in the last year. I think it far more likely that he’s still in England, rather than here.”

“There’s always the possibility that he changed his name,” Mulder pointed out, and Severus had to repress the urge to Obliviate the man where he sat.

Damn them! Severus snarled silently. If they hadn’t come snooping around, everything would be fine, but now he would have to take irrevocable steps to protect Remus, steps he hadn’t wanted to take.

“Well, we should have the answer soon.” Scully sat back in her chair, looking at the watch in her wrist briefly. “You want to wait until after sundown to head out to the house, right? Just promise me that if we don’t find anything, you’ll let this case go. If Remus Lupin _is_ still alive, having a lot of FBI inquiries into his whereabouts isn’t going to do the man any favors.”

Severus nodded, pleased by her response. He didn’t like either of them, given the threat they posed to Remus, but of the two, she was far less objectionable. At least she showed more good sense and pragmatism than her partner.

“If we don’t find anything, I guess we’ll have to let it go,” Mulder admitted reluctantly. “Remus Lupin is the key to this case, but if we can’t find him...” He shrugged and spread his hands.

“What if we do find him tonight, and he’s walking around on two legs, not four?” Scully countered. “Then he isn’t a werewolf, according to your definition, right?”

“Right,” Mulder agreed even more grudgingly, and Severus almost felt sympathy for him.

Almost.

Of course, the problem was that they _weren’t_ going to find Remus walking around on two legs; even if Severus had been able to provide the Wolfsbane Potion, it wouldn’t have prevented the transformation altogether.

He drew himself up straight, resolved in what he must do. He had hoped he would be able to stand guard over Remus from a distance and never let on that he was anywhere near, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and Remus had to be warned.


	7. Chapter 7

The clock marked the inevitable approach of sunset, and Remus sighed, putting aside his book and rising to his feet. He crossed to the closet of the small bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked. All that was left for him to do was to strip and make his way to the basement of the house, where he would transform and spend the night attempting to break out in order to wreak havoc on the world.

Not that he _wanted_ to break out, of course; doing so was his worst nightmare, in fact, and he’d never been so horrified in his life as when he’d woken up after the last full moon, naked and shivering in a clump of bushes not too far from the house. He’d stumbled back, wondering what he had done wrong, what he could possibly have overlooked in all his careful preparations. He’d been transforming in the house for almost a year, ever since the end of the war, and he’d been so certain that the place was completely secure and private, that he’d pose no risk to anyone and could hide away for a while, until he decided exactly what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

As it turned out, he’d not done anything wrong, which was a relief on one hand, but worrisome on the other. A violent storm had blown in during the night, and a huge branch from a tree next to the house had fallen, knocking away several boards and breaking the window beneath, allowing him to escape. After he’d recovered from the transformation, he’d backtracked his trail, discovering that he’d apparently attacked several animals in his fury at not finding any humans to maul. That had to be the explanation, since werewolves didn’t normally attack anything but humans, but things could have been far, far worse. The storm was late enough in the night that he’d not made it to another house, so he’d not turned anyone. It was small comfort, but it was all he had.

He’d been very careful with using magic since he’d arrived, but he’d had no choice but to use charms to cover his trail and repair the damages at the house. He’d hoped it wouldn’t be enough to attract the attention of the magical authorities here in the States, and apparently it hadn’t been. Even the FBI agents who’d come by two weeks before hadn’t returned, and it seemed that whatever they’d wanted, they’d decided that there was no connection to this place. Eventually he was going to have to find somewhere else to go, but for the time being, he was safe, and he’d reinforced the entire basement to make certain that nothing would happen again.

His ruminations were interrupted by a banging on his front door, the sudden, furious sound startling him, and before he could recover from the surprise, he was shocked anew by an all-too familiar voice shouting his name.

“Lupin! I know you’re in there! Open this door!”

He was paralyzed by disbelief for a moment, but then he dropped his shirt on the floor and ran from the bedroom, sprinting down the stairs two at a time. There was no way that he could be hearing what he was hearing, but as he waved a hand to dispel the wards on the front door and flung it open, he found he was standing face to face with a ghost. It had to be a ghost, because Severus Snape couldn’t possibly be there on the front porch of the house in the backwoods of Virginia where Remus had been hiding.

“You can’t be here.” He blurted the words even as his eyes ran over Severus, taking in the quite obviously live and real shape of him. “You’re dead!”

For a moment, it appeared as if Severus was staring avidly at his bare chest, but Remus supposed he must have been imagining things as Severus fixed his dark eyes on Remus’ face and scowled.

“Obviously, I’m about as dead as you are,” he retorted, tipping his chin up haughtily.

“But... I...” Remus drew in a deep breath, counting slowly to ten, and then he reached out, grabbing Severus by the arm and pulling him quickly into the house. “Don’t think I’m not happy to see that you’re alive and well,” he said urgently, resetting the wards with a wave of his hand. “Believe it or not, I really am, and I’d love to spend time chatting, but you have to know what night it is. I have to get down to the basement and lock myself in before the sun sets.”

Severus gave him a Look. “I am _quite_ aware of what night it is,” he replied. “But you cannot stay here tonight. We have to find somewhere else for you to spend the full moon, or else you are in terrible trouble.”

“Somewhere else?” Remus blinked, unable to believe what Severus was saying and why he was saying it. “There isn’t anywhere else! Why can’t I stay here? It’s safe, I promise you. I can’t get out.”

“You did once before,” Severus pointed out, and he reached out to grasp Remus’ wrist, his long fingers warm against Remus’ skin. “But the possibility of you getting out isn’t the issue. It’s those FBI agents. They have returned to town, and they are determined to search this property and the surrounding woods tonight. One howl, and your sanctuary is gone for good.”

Remus gaped at him for a moment, confusion and conflicting sensations threatening to overwhelm him. Severus was _touching_ him, but that was only slightly more startling than the fact that Severus somehow knew so much about his circumstances. But he could feel the approach of sunset, the approach like a feeling of dread pressing down upon him, and he knew there wasn’t time to sort this out. Severus was here, and had no reason to lie so far as Remus knew. Or if this was some complex plan for vengeance, it was too much for Remus to try to escape at the moment.

“Okay, fine, I’ll trust you on this,” he said quickly, following his instincts. “What should I do? I can’t go anywhere else, but I could put silencing charms on the basement.” He grasped Severus’ shoulders. “Please, if they manage to get in, you’ll have to kill me if I attack. Maybe if they don’t see or hear anything they’ll go away, but if they don’t... I can’t live knowing I bit someone, Severus. Please, please say you’ll make sure I don’t!”

Severus went still, and Remus saw something flash in his dark eyes as he gazed at Remus, something strange and new that Remus never expected to see. “You won’t harm anyone, and neither will you be harmed,” Severus said, his voice filled with fierce determination. “I will see to that.”

“Thank you,” Remus said fervently. He didn’t know yet the why or how of Severus’ sudden appearance, but he wasn’t going to question his good fortune. Severus would keep people safe from him, and that was all that mattered for now.

He glanced toward the window, where daylight was fading rapidly. “I have to go,” he groaned, unfastening his belt as he hurried toward the kitchen, where the stairs to the basement were. “I’ll do the best I can with the silencing charms, but you might have to reinforce them.” He paused in the doorway and stripped off his jeans and underpants, then tossed Severus an apologetic look over his shoulder. “I owe you, Severus. More than I can ever repay.”

To his surprise, he found that Severus wasn’t looking away in either disgust or modesty; if anything, it appeared that Severus was staring again with an almost... hungry look in his eyes.

“Let’s get through the night,” Severus said, clearing his throat. “Then we can discuss what you might owe me.”

A tingle shot down Remus’ spine. “Yes, we’ll definitely need to talk,” he replied, wondering if nearly-forgotten hopes were causing him to read far too much into the situation. He just hoped that he’d live through the night so that he’d be able to find out. And that Severus wouldn’t disappear or turn out to have been a figment of his imagination. 

In case it was, Remus wasted a precious moment to do something he’d been longing to do for years. Turning, he stepped toward Severus, grasping his arms and pulling him close. He captured Severus’ lips with his, the kiss hard and far too brief, but all that he could afford in the time he had.

“You’d better be here in the morning,” he said, and then he released Severus and sprinted for the basement door. He slammed it shut and uttered the words that activated the charms that made the door impervious to his lycanthrope strength. He didn’t have his wand, but he cast the best silencing charm he could manage just before the first pangs of the change hit him and caused him to cry out in pain.

Whatever was to happen, it was all in Severus’ hands now. Strangely enough, Remus felt safer than he had in a very, very long time.


	8. Chapter 8

The last of the long autumn twilight was beginning to fade as Mulder stopped the car in front of the old Whitman farmhouse. The place looked little different than it had two weeks before, although now the weeds were dying back, their stems withering to brown and interspersed with fallen leaves. The roof of the house was covered with leaves as well, the remnants of the gutters overflowing with them, and it made Dana Scully’s tidy soul protest to see the neglect. She still thought that this was nothing more than a wild goose chase, but Mulder seemed to have his heart set on finding a “real live werewolf.” All Scully could do was tag along and hope that they didn’t end up getting shot by a hunter or falling into an abandoned well.

There were a few positives about the situation, however; for one thing, they were dressed in FBI combat fatigues, which consisted of black cargo pants and sweaters. It wasn’t her favorite attire to _wear_ by any means - she rather preferred sensible slacks and low heels - but she did enjoy seeing Mulder dressed that way. His lean form looked even taller in the dark, snug-fitting clothing, and his normal boyish looks had a far darker and more dangerous edge. Maybe part of it was her imagination at work, but she knew that Mulder had a darker side to his personality, and strangely enough, she found the evidence of it alluring. 

“Well, I guess this is it,” she said, checking that the batteries in her flashlight were working properly. She raised a brow at Mulder. “Shall we try knocking first, or do you think it’s just a wasted effort?”

“I don’t think it’ll do any more good than it did last time,” Mulder said matter-of-factly, “but we can try.”

He turned off the engine and killed the headlights, and he checked his own flashlight before getting out of the car, the eagerness in his expression visible even in the fading light.

“The moon is rising,” he said, gazing up at the glowing full moon. “Our werewolf ought to be out and about by now.”

Scully got out of the car as well and paused to make certain that her gun was accessible. She didn’t believe in werewolves, of course, but she had seen far too many dangeous people lurking in out of the way places. Often when someone didn’t want to be found, they tended to take exception when federal agents came to call.

She followed Mulder’s gaze upward, and she couldn’t help but admire the sight of the moon, the silver orb seeming tangled in the bare branches of the trees. “Hopefully there isn’t anything dangerous and threatening ‘out and about’,” she replied, tearing her eyes away from the moon and blinking for a moment to banish the image from her retinas. It wouldn’t do to go into a situation night-blinded.

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Mulder replied archly as he headed for the house and mounted the porch steps. At the door, he paused and glanced back at her. “Would you like to do the honors this time? Maybe the werewolf will respond better to a female voice. Twas Beauty that killed the Beast, after all.”

Scully gave a hmphf at his nonsense, although secretly she was a pleased with the implied compliment. “By your logic, you don’t want anyone to answer, remember?” she asked, but she moved past him and knocked at the door. “This is the FBI,” she announced firmly. “We’re looking for Mr. Remus Lupin. Mr. Lupin, if you’re in there, we just want to ask you a few questions. We are not here to serve a warrant or arrest you.”

Mulder watched the door and listened with obvious anticipation, and as the seconds ticked by with no sound from within, he grew restless. “It looks like there’s nobody home,” he said. “I think we should go inside and have a look around before we start searching the woods.”

“We can’t do that!” Scully said, turning to fix Mulder with a stern look. “First, we don’t have a warrant. Second, we don’t have probable cause. Third, we’re not in hot pursuit. So going inside would be breaking and entering for us, just as it would be for anyone else!”

Mulder gave a noncommittal grunt at that and went back down the porch steps, rounding the corner of the house as if headed for the backyard. When several moments passed without him returning, Scully followed, and the faint tinkle of breaking glass reached her right before Mulder poked his head around the corner.

“Hey, Scully, I found a broken window,” he said, his expression admirably deadpan.

“You did, did you?” Scully asked dryly. Technically Mulder was breaking all kinds of laws, but she knew that he was going in with or without her, and without would be far more dangerous. “I presume you now have probable cause to investigate a possible property crime?”

“I thought I heard a scream,” he replied, still straight-faced, just before he disappeared around the corner again.

“Mulder, wait!” she hissed, hurrying down the porch steps and following him around to the side of the house. “Don’t you dare go in there alone!”

But of course it was too late. Mulder was already at the back door, reaching through the conveniently broken pane to flip the lock. He opened the door and glanced back at her before stepping inside. “I won’t go in alone if you hurry up,” he said patiently.

Muttering promises to kill him assuming that an irate Mr. Lupin or a fall through a rotting floorboard failed to do so, Scully hurried as directed. She drew her gun and flipped on her flashlight, keeping close to Mulder as they entered the house.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but she could see immediately that the inside of the house was in much better shape than the outside. They were in a kitchen, and there was no obvious signs of dirt or decay. In fact, it smelled clean rather than musty like a normal closed-up, abandoned house would smell.

Mulder went to the cabinets and opened one, revealing boxes and canned goods; he pulled out a box of cereal and shone his flashlight on the label. “Expiration date is next year,” he said, glancing up at her. “Odd for a house supposedly abandoned since the 1970s. I thought only Twinkies had that long of a shelf life.”

“So does Remus Lupin live here, or is it a squatter?” she asked quietly. “Either way, Mulder, this could go very, very bad.”

“Either way, it looks like someone is trying to make people think this place is deserted,” Mulder pointed out as he reshelved the cereal and closed the cabinet door. “If it’s a squatter, they shouldn’t be here anyway. If it’s not, well, there’s a mystery to be solved.”

“Brilliant observation,” Scully replied. “So what are we going to do, wait until whoever it is comes back?”

“We’re here,” Mulder said with a shrug as he glanced around the kitchen. “We might as well look around.” His gaze fell on a door nearby, and he nodded in its direction. “Looks like that might lead to a basement.” He paused. “Or a pantry,” he added, beating her to the punch. “But it won’t hurt to check.”

Scully sighed. “Fine,” she said, motioning toward the door. “By all means, let’s check.”

Mulder went to the door and attempted to open it, frowning when the knob wouldn’t turn, and he glanced over his shoulder at her, visibly puzzled. “It’s locked,” he said, his tone a blend of bewilderment and suspicion. “Why would someone lock a basement door?”

“To keep trespassers out?” Scully asked rhetorically, although she, too, wondered why there was so much security, her logical, investigative mind easily pulling forth the most likely possibilities. “This would be a perfect cover for a drug lab, you know. Maybe we aren’t looking for a werewolf. Maybe it was an addict on a bad trip who killed the animals. Whatever it is, though, it’s obviously something that someone doesn’t want people to be able to get at easily.”

Mulder looked disappointed at the possibility that whatever lay behind the locked door was nothing more than a mundane meth lab, but he rallied gamely.

“Only one way to find out whether it’s the lady or the tiger,” he said. “What’s your pleasure? Shoot the lock or use my broad and manly physique to break down the door?”

The thought of Mulder breaking down the door by sheer strength was certainly an alluring one, but Scully looked at the solid expanse of wood and decided she didn’t want to have to carry him out if he bashed himself up. “Shoot the lock,” she said firmly, although her eyes strayed over Mulder’s body, and she smiled slightly, deciding to take a risk. “If you’re looking for bruises, I can think of far more interesting ways for you to acquire them... later.”

Mulder shot her an arch look as if he had indeed picked up on the implications, but he didn’t waste time on following up right then. Instead, he drew his gun and stepped back, aiming carefully at the heavy lock. One shot was all it took, and as soon as the door began to swing open, she could hear snarling from within.

“What the hell?” Mulder frowned as he trained his gun on the doorway and stepped back a little further.

The door creaked open wide, and Scully could see the feral yellow gleam of eyes in the darkness beyond.

 _Wolf. It’s a wolf. **Not** a werewolf, there’s no such thing!_ Scully had been faced with many things during the course of her career - kidnapping by aliens, kidnapping by crazy people, threats of death or worse from everyone from secret echelons of her own government to punk kids who could barely hold a gun, but for sheer primeval fear, she had to admit that there was very little to compare with facing 150 pounds of fur and muscle and teeth and _claws_ staring at you from the darkness with nothing but carnage on its mind. The glowing eyes held nothing of fear or reason, simply raw hatred and a desire to destroy.

She saw all this in the second it took her to bring her gun to bear, the instincts trained into her by the FBI and horrible experience coming to her rescue. No doubt the thing would be able to get to Mulder and hurt him before she could fire, but she wasn’t about to allow it to kill him. Not if she had to die herself to keep that from happening.

“Fire!” she said urgently, hoping that Mulder would obey, and her finger tightened on the trigger.

Someone _did_ fire, but it wasn’t Mulder. She heard a strong, deep voice shout something that sounded like Latin, and a streak of light shot between them, hitting the thing in the basement dead-on. The beast yelped, and she heard the unmistakable thud of a heavy body hitting the floor, and then all was silent in the darkness.

“You _idiots_!” someone snarled, and she whirled to see Stephen Prince standing behind them, glaring furiously as he aimed a polished stick at them.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her gun automatically training on the new threat, and then she glanced back over her shoulder to make certain that Mulder wasn’t about to go pelting down into the basement for a closer look at the wolf. “You have some explaining to do!”

Mulder appeared more interested in Stephen Prince than the wolf in the basement - for the moment, at any rate - especially since Prince was still aiming his stick at them as if it was as deadly a weapon as their guns.

“No, I do not,” Prince replied coldly. “ _You_ are the trespassers here, and I’m willing to bet you don’t have a warrant.”

That actually made Scully a bit uncomfortable, but it didn’t change the facts. “We have probable cause,” she replied, shooting Mulder a somewhat frustrated glance since he wasn’t jumping in. “Whether or not you are trespassing is secondary to the fact that you are harboring a dangerous animal which has already escaped once and killed local livestock. We’re going to have to place you under arrest, Mr. Prince. Lower your... stick. We’ll call animal control to remove the wolf, and they will probably have it put down.”

Prince uttered a short, sharp bark of laughter and shook his head. “You are not going to arrest me, and you damned well are not going to remove or kill him. That isn’t a wolf.” He fixed Mulder with a knowing smirk. “You wanted to find Remus Lupin, and you have. He’s right there in the basement. In other words, Agent Mulder, you were right.” Prince lifted his stick, flicked his wrist, and shouted, “Obliviate!”


	9. Chapter 9

“Mr. Lupin was such a nice man,” Scully commented as they headed back to the car, and she grinned at Mulder in the moonlight. “So I guess you owe me that steak dinner after all.”

“Yeah...” Mulder sighed wistfully as he glanced back at the house and then up at the full moon. “Pick the restaurant. I’ll even throw in dessert.”

Scully walked closer to Mulder, resting her hand on his arm comfortingly. “For what it’s worth, it’s been an interesting case. Very appropriate for Halloween. And who knows, maybe there _is_ a werewolf around here somewhere. There has to be something behind all those rumors, right?”

“Maybe.” Mulder shoved his hands into his pockets, looking like a little boy who’d gotten rocks instead of candy while trick-or-treating. “But obviously Remus Lupin isn’t it, weirdly coincidental name aside.”

Scully was about to agree, when a dark Volkswagen Beetle pulled up behind their car. Lynne waved from the open passenger window and hurriedly got out. “Don’t tell me you’ve already gone in!” she said, gesturing to the overly-large army camouflage jacket she was wearing over jeans and knee-high boots. “We wanted to come with you in case you needed help with the werewolf!”

“We brought silver!” Anne emerged from the driver’s seat, wearing a black jacket with “TAPS” emblazoned in light grey on the chest. She was also clutching a cane with a silver head in the shape of a wolf, and she held it up triumphantly. “See?”

“Very nice,” Mulder replied, nodding and seeming amused. “But there’s no werewolf here.”

“Aww...” Anne’s face crumpled with disappointment.

“How can you be sure?” Lynne asked, frowning in puzzlement and looking back toward the house. “Did you search everywhere? What about in the woods? Maybe it’s hiding out in those old tobacco barns!”

Scully shook her head. “Actually, we didn’t have to search. We found Remus Lupin,” she explained. “He’s been sick for quite some time, and he came here to recuperate, which is why the place still looks so ill-kept on the outside and why he hasn’t been into town. He also reported seeing some red wolves on the property, so it looks like we’ve found our ‘killers’. It seems the first time we came by, he was too tired and weak to get to the door, so we couldn’t clear everything up right then, unfortunately.”

“Oh.” Anne lowered the cane, still looking disappointed that they wouldn’t be going on a werewolf hunt after all. “Well, case closed, I guess.” She glanced over at Lynne. “Maybe we can get Stephen to send Mr. Lupin some soup. It’d probably do him some good.”

“That’s a great idea - and we can send a cake, too,” Lynne replied. She put a supportive arm around Anne’s shoulders. “You know, I have an idea. It’s not as cool as a werewolf, but we could head over to the old Anderson homestead. We’ve not been there on a full moon; maybe the Colonel’s ghost will be around.”

Anne brightened a little at that, and she nodded. “The EMF meter’s in the glovebox,” she said. “I brought a digital recorder, too, just in case.”

“Sounds like you’re all set, then,” Mulder said dryly.

“It pays to be prepared,” Lynne replied, grinning at him without a trace of self-consciousness. “I’m a hopeful skeptic. I can’t be sure I’ve ever seen anything truly supernatural, but I am definitely open to the possibility, and I hope I do someday. So having the equipment on hand to help prove it happened when it does is just common sense.”

Scully coughed to cover a laugh. “I suppose ‘trust but verify’ is a step up from ‘trust no one’,” she said to Mulder, and then she nudged him. “Do you want to go with them? The steak will wait, and who knows? Maybe you’ll get a ghost for Halloween instead of a werewolf.”

Mulder hesitated, and then he shrugged. “Why not? The werewolf case is closed, so we’re off-duty now, and at least you won’t spend the whole time explaining how the tricks work.”

“I can’t help it if I’m immune to parlor tricks,” Scully protested, starting toward the car again. “You want to believe, Mulder, so it’s easier for you, but I’m a natural skeptic.” She tilted her head at him. “You have to admit, though, we do make a good team, right?”

He gave her a small, sidelong smile, and even in the moonlight, she could see warmth bloom in his eyes. “Considering how many cases we’ve solved and how many years we’ve lasted as partners, I think the answer is pretty obvious, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” Scully replied softly, smiling in return. “I may not believe in much, Mulder, but I do believe in you.”


	10. Chapter 10

Severus had been too keyed up to sleep much, so as soon as the sun came up, he went to unlock the basement door, lighting his way down the stairs with a _lumos_ spell. He’d repaired the lock once the agents had left and secured Remus in the basement once more before the stunning spell had worn off. The agents were none the wiser thanks to the false memories he’d given them, and no livestock had come to any harm, thus he supposed the crisis had been successfully averted.

He carried a blanket draped over one arm as he descended into the basement, glancing around to see if Remus was conscious yet. As it happened, Remus lifted his head, blinking somewhat groggily as Severus approached the place where he was curled up on the bare wooden floor, shivering in the chilly air.

“You’re really here,” Remus said softly, his gaze never leaving Severus. “I was wondering if I’d dreamed the whole thing.”

“Considering what I had to deal with last night, it was more like a nightmare,” Severus grumbled tartly, but he unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around Remus with a gentleness that belied his tone.

He wasn’t unaware of Remus’ state of undress, of course, but he kept himself from ogling; it was pointless, after all.

“Thank you.” Remus’ gratitude was obvious, and he sighed slightly in relief as he pulled the blanked close around himself. Then Severus’ words seemed to register, and Remus looked alarmed. “I’d forgotten... the FBI? What happened? Merlin, Severus, when I think what would have happened if you _hadn’t_ been here...” He shuddered in horror. “I owe you more than I can ever repay. I’m not afraid of dying, but turning someone else would be a far worse thing to me.”

“They broke into the house, shot the lock off the basement door, and were about two seconds away from being werewolf kibble before I stunned you,” Severus replied matter-of-factly, seeing no point in hiding the truth. “Don’t worry, you didn’t get close enough to either of them to do anything, and they left with fresh, new memories of that nice Mr. Lupin who has been so ill and without so much as a single wolf hair or droplet of slobber on their clothes.”

Remus’ eyes widened, then closed as he swallowed hard, clearly imagining what might have happened. Then he looked at Severus again, managing a wan smile, although his relief was clear to see. “Thank you seems so inadequate, Severus, but I really _do_ thank you for what you’ve done for me. You’re like my own personal angel, saving me from myself.”

That coaxed a bark of wry laughter from Severus, and he rolled his eyes at Remus’ nonsense. “I am hardly angelic, which you well know,” he replied, extending his hand in a silent offer to help Remus to his feet. “At any rate, your secret is safe, and they won’t be back. As far as the rumor mill is concerned, you’re here to escape the chilly, damp weather of your native land in hopes of speeding along your convalescence.”

“That was quick thinking.” Remus didn’t hesitate to accept Severus’ help, and he rose somewhat shakily to his feet. He didn’t release Severus’ hand; instead he squeezed it gently. “Will you stay for a while?” he asked, his eyes wide and full of appeal. “Or have I given you so much trouble that you’re eager to see the last of me?”

Severus hesitated, debating whether to admit the truth yet or not, but he supposed it was too late to dissemble now that Remus knew he was here. “It would be difficult for me to leave,” he said slowly, “since I have a flat in town, and I’m the executive chef at the cafe.”

“What?” Remus gaped at him, his blue eyes full of disbelief. “But... _how_? Why?” He drew in a deep breath. “Obviously, I don’t understand, but I’d like to know what brought you here. Or is it all some bizarre, massive coincidence?”

As tempting as it was to tug his hand free of Remus’ grasp and make up some story about coincidences in order to salvage his pride, Severus suspected the time for salvaging had passed. Bracing himself, he drew in a deep breath and made his confession.

“It was no coincidence,” he said. “I came here because of you. I thought you needed someone to look after you, and as it happens, I found myself at loose ends after the war, so...” He trailed off and shrugged, hoping Remus wouldn’t ask him to elaborate or explain his motives.

“Oh.” Remus looked absolutely gobsmacked, but he didn’t release Severus’ hand. After a moment, he seemed to gather his wits, and he offered Severus a smile that was hesitant, yet oddly hopeful. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly. “Very glad. And for more than just the fact that you saved my life.”

Severus wasn’t certain how to respond to that; he wasn’t certain how to handle the situation at all, because he hadn’t expected ever to reveal his presence to Remus. He’d spent all these years at a distance, and he had assumed he would remain at a distance; he wasn’t at all certain he would be able to hold up if Remus began spouting some nonsense about wanting to be friends and spend time together.

“I don’t have to stay,” he said at last, glancing away. “I realize you wanted to leave the wizarding world behind. I would not want to be an unwelcome reminder of the past.”

Remus started to say something, but then he seemed to change his mind. “Why don’t we go up to the kitchen? I need tea rather desperately at the moment, but after that, I need to explain a few things to you,” he said, tightening his grip on Severus’ hand. “But first let me make it perfectly clear that you are in no way unwelcome, and I want you to stay. More than you know.”

That was something of a relief, but Severus wasn’t entirely relaxed, since if Remus wanted nothing but friendship, he would almost rather be unwelcome. Still, he nodded and guided Remus toward the stairs.

“You should probably get dressed while I make the tea,” he suggested. “It’s a rather chilly morning.”

Not to mention, Remus being dressed would remove the temptation of sneaking peeks to see if the blanket would slip.

For a moment, Remus just looked at him, his expression unreadable, but then he smiled. “All right,” he replied, and then he turned and made his way toward the stairs to the kitchen. “Could you please help me up the stairs? My balance isn’t fully back to normal, and I don’t want to end up back in a heap at the bottom.”

Severus silently cursed his own weakness for giving in instead of sending Remus packing upstairs on his own, but no, he moved to Remus’ side and even slid his arm around Remus’ waist to support him.

“How is that?” he asked gruffly.

Remus smiled at him, his entire face lighting up. “Perfect, thank you,” he replied, leaning slightly against Severus. “Let’s go, then. Slowly.”

Severus bit back a groan of dismay, but he didn’t hustle Remus up the stairs, no matter how maddening it was to feel the warmth of Remus’ body seeping through his clothes. He held Remus securely all the way to the top of the steps and stopped there.

“I trust you can make it into the bedroom on your own,” he said.

“Yes, thank you,” Remus said, sounding slightly out of breath. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can. Feel free to make anything that you’d like.” He gave Severus a smile, and then he turned toward the front room, the blanket slipping low on his backside as he walked away.

Severus couldn’t keep himself from looking - a little peek couldn’t hurt, surely! - but he tore his gaze away quickly and hurried back to the kitchen. He rummaged among the cabinets for tea, and he put the kettle on, preparing some toast to go with the tea while he waited for the water to boil.

By the time Remus returned, Severus had the table set, a nice pile of toast was waiting, the tea was steeping, and butter and jam sat next to Remus’ plate.

Remus entered the kitchen almost silently, his bare feet making no sound on the tile. He wore sweatpants that were obviously old and well-washed, faded to a pale grey and with a patch on one knee. His only other clothing was a t-shirt, one that was too large for him, and Severus was suddenly aware that Remus had lost weight in the last year. The shirt was also old, its washed-out blue making Remus’ eyes look darker.

“Everything smells great,” Remus said, crossing to the table and lowering himself slowly into a chair. “Thanks, it’s been a long time since I’ve had any help after the full.”

“Not that long,” Severus replied as he poured a cup of Earl Grey and placed it in front of Remus. “Only a little over a year.” He raised one eyebrow loftily. “I assume your wife helped you.”

Remus had started to pick up the cup, but then he lowered it to the table again, looking at Severus somberly. “I need to explain about that,” he said huskily. “My marriage was... well, I suppose that since she’s dead, I might as well just say it. It was a sham. A farce. I was trapped by my own stupidity and cowardice into maintaining a pretense to protect Tonks and her child.”

Severus’ breath froze in his lungs, and he felt light-headed, reaching out to grasp the edge of the table to steady himself. “What do you mean?” he asked. “A farce?”

Remus picked up the tea and took a sip, as though needing the time to brace himself before he could continue. “I tried to tell her I was wrong for her. You wouldn’t believe how hard I tried,” he said finally, looking down into the cup. “I did everything I could think of, used every argument, even made some up. I tried everything but the truth... and that’s how I ended up marrying her.”

Raising his eyes, Remus looked at Severus, not hiding his unhappiness or his self-loathing. “I had all these people telling me that I was lucky, that she loved me, that there was nothing that couldn’t be worked out if I’d just marry her. Maybe I even started to believe it to an extent; I was at the lowest point I’d ever been at in my life, and that’s saying a lot, believe me. Albus was dead, and you... well, let’s just say my faith in everything I thought I knew was shaken. So I went through with the wedding.” He paused, and his smile was bitter. “The problem was I couldn’t go through with the wedding night.”

“Why not?” Severus shook his head, trying and failing to make sense of what Remus was saying, and he poured himself a cup of tea quickly, feeling in dire need of fortification. “You had an attractive young woman throwing herself at you. I thought you would have leaped at the opportunity she offered.”

The smile that Remus gave him held very little humor. “That’s what everyone thought. As I said, I’d almost convinced myself, but in the end, it was hopeless. I’m gay, Severus. There isn’t so much as an iota of bisexuality in my make up, believe me. If there had been, my life would have been a lot different than it has been.”

Severus nearly choked on his tea at that revelation, and he was too shocked to hide his reaction behind a mask. “But - you married her. You fathered her child!”

“Alas, that was act two of the play,” Remus replied. “Yes, I married her, and she was none too happy to find out that I’d been honest about not being the right one for her, especially as I hadn’t been honest about the real reason.” He grimaced. “It was hard enough being a near outcast because of being a werewolf. I was petrified of coming out of the closet, too, in case everyone deserted me. I think Albus suspected; he was the only one not pushing me at Tonks with both hands. But once he was gone, I was alone, and I got tired of fighting. But anyway, Tonks was hurt, and embarrassed, and angry... I couldn’t blame her, to be honest, not for that. But instead of just asking for an annulment, she did something that paid me back in spades for my dishonesty. She went out, got drunk, had sex with... well, I’m not sure. She never did say who. To be fair, I don’t think she meant to get pregnant, but she did; and at that point, my fate was sealed. We had each wronged the other, and there was too much going on with the war for us to throw a divisive wrench right in the middle of the forces fighting Voldemort. I stayed with her, even though I wanted desperately to leave. And I let her give the child my name. But Teddy isn’t mine, Severus. I don’t hate him; he’s a victim of my idiocy and his mother’s pain. Yet I hope you can see why, when everyone thought I was dead, I decided to stay that way. I couldn’t stay and pretend to be the grieving widower and raise a child toward whom I only feel guilt. He’s better off with Andromeda, and I’m better off... well, anywhere else, even if it means being alone for the rest of my life.”

Setting his cup aside, Severus paced back and forth as he listened to Remus spill his story, scarcely able to believe that what he was hearing was true. In all the years he had known Remus, he had never suspected that Remus was gay, and the sardonically amused side of himself thought that it was just one more way in which they were alike, both of them masters of secrecy in their own ways.

“I don’t understand why you’re living like this, though,” he said at last, making a sweeping gesture at the isolated, ramshackle house. “You could have started over here as I did - gotten a job, made a proper home for yourself, taken a lover.” He practically choked on the last words, but they had to be said.

Remus’ eyes widened. “You have a lover, Severus?” he asked, and Severus saw the familiar, polite mask Remus had worn for as long as Severus had known him descend over his features. “I... well, I’m glad you’re happy.”

“No, not _me_ , you idiot!” Severus waved away the notion irritably. “I’m talking about _you_! You have a far greater chance of finding someone than I do, and you could have done so by now easily enough. So why didn’t you? Why are you holed up in here like a refugee?”

There was something that looked rather like relief in Remus’ eyes, and he relaxed slightly. “It’s not so bad here, and I’m used to being alone,” he said quietly. “This place is mine, left to me by my mother, and there was a tiny inheritance with it, enough to pay the taxes and such. And I have a little money, left to me by Sirius - out of pity, I think, but it’s enough to live on for a while. I guess I just needed to... well, hole up and lick my wounds, to be honest. I’m free for the first time in my life, but I’ve just been drifting, at loose ends.” He looked deep into Severus’ eyes. “As to why I didn’t take a lover... I’ve spent the last two years in mourning for the only man I’ve ever wanted, thinking that he was lost forever and beating myself up for lost opportunities and the mistakes I made. I knew that the war wouldn’t last forever, so I kept telling myself that after it was over, after we were both free, I’d tell him how I felt. But then things went horribly wrong, and by the time it was all over, there didn’t seem any point.”

Severus did a quick bit of mental mathematics to make certain Remus couldn’t possibly be referring to Black, and it certainly seemed that Remus was not... but that didn’t mean Remus was referring to _him_ either, he reminded himself sternly.

“It isn’t too late to start over,” he said gruffly. “This fellow you want might be out of the picture, but there are other men in the world, you know. If nothing else, you could at least get a job and slap a coat of paint on this house.”

“The thought of getting on with life is definitely looking more appealing now,” Remus replied. “But... I still don’t want anyone else but the man I’ve dreamed of for years.” Then he smiled suddenly. “Fortunately for me, fate has finally seen fit to smile on me for once, at least in offering me a chance I thought was impossible. So... am I brave enough to take it?”

Slowly Remus rose to his feet, and he held out a hand toward Severus, his eyes showing a trace of fear, but also naked hope. “I think I’ve learned a thing or two from my past mistakes. Or I hope I have. And you’re here because of me, you said. Please, Severus... stay with me? If you want me to have someone, to take a lover and not be alone, then the only one I want - the only one I’ve ever really wanted - is you.”

Severus stared at Remus’ out-stretched hand, trying to make sense of what he’d heard. It _sounded_ like Remus had confessed to wanting _him_ , but that couldn’t be right because life tended not to give Severus the things he wanted. On the contrary, experience had taught him that his hopes, dreams, and aspirations were useless, nothing more than Fate’s cannon fodder. So for him to be offered _this_... Well, it had to be a dream!

But if it was a dream, he thought as he reached out and clasped Remus’ hand, he intended to enjoy the hell out of it before he woke up.

“Yes, I will stay,” he said, and he tugged Remus’ hand, urging him closer. He cupped Remus’ cheek in the palm of his free hand and drew Remus into a kiss, waiting for the penny to drop, to wake up, to hear Remus say he’d misunderstood, but unable to resist claiming whatever he could before it ended.

But it didn’t end. Instead of pulling away, Remus melted against Severus’ body, wrapping an arm around Severus’ waist and parting his lips with a moan that sounded almost desperate. Severus took full advantage of the silent invitation, claiming Remus’ mouth eagerly, and by the time he began to realize that perhaps this wasn’t a dream, that the FBI agents hadn’t sprayed him with an hallucinogenic gas, and Remus really was in his arms, warm and willing, need had taken over, and there was no room for second thoughts, insecurities, or doubts.

With a hungry little growl, he grasped Remus’ hips and walked him to the counter, pressing against Remus and letting Remus feel his growing desire as he continued to taste and explore Remus’ mouth with leisurely thoroughness. Remus responded eagerly, wrapping his arms around Severus’ shoulders and burying his hands in Severus’ hair, running his fingers through through it. He returned the kiss with equal hunger, and his body was taut against Severus’, his own arousal seeming to answer Severus’, and he wrapped one of his legs around Severus’ as though trying to meld them into one.

As much as Severus wanted to drag Remus to the nearest bed and spread him out like a delectable banquet to feast upon, Severus wanted - needed - him too much _right now_ to move anywhere or to slow down. His breathing was already growing ragged as he trailed hungry kisses along Remus’ jaw and throat and slipped his hands beneath Remus’ shirt, seeking out warm, bare skin. He could feel too many bones, but that was going to change; he was going to take proper care of Remus from now on, and Remus would never go hungry again - not for anything he desired.

“You feel so good,” Remus moaned, as he writhed beneath Severus’ hands, tilting his head back to give Severus better access to his neck. His blue eyes had grown dark, and his skin was flushed and warm with desire - desire that was all for Severus. “I want you so much, and I’ve wanted you for so long. Please... anything you want, you may have. Just take me and make me yours!”

Severus lifted his head and searched Remus’ face for any sign of duplicity, but he could see nothing but passion in Remus’ eyes; shocking as it was to hear such sentiments expressed about _him_ , it also seemed to be true. Remus really did want him.

Groaning, he captured Remus’ mouth again, pouring all his desperate longing into the kiss, and he tugged at the waistband of Remus’ sweatpants, pulling them down. All Severus wanted was to touch Remus and watch him unravel, to see him lose control completely, and to know that Remus was experiencing the heights of pleasure because of no other but him.

Remus returned the kiss hungrily, matching Severus’ passion with his own, seeming as desperate for Severus as Severus was for him. He moaned against Severus’ mouth as Severus touched him, pressing eagerly into Severus’ hand. Remus hands were against his back, pulling him closer, his nails scoring the fabric of Severus’ shirt as Remus went wild in his arms. A fierce, possessive pleasure filled Severus as he curled his fingers around Remus’ hard length and stroked him, and he broke away from the kiss so he could watch Remus’ face, drinking in every nuance, every sign that Remus welcomed and wanted him.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered. “All mine at last.”

Eyes dark with need, Remus looked back at him, not holding anything back, letting Severus see all of his desire. “All yours, Severus,” he moaned, clinging to Severus as he gave himself over completely, and then he shattered, crying out Severus’ name as he came undone.

Severus watched avidly, scarcely able to believe what he was seeing, that Remus was in his arms, lost in passion; he couldn’t remember ever seeing anything so perfect - or that made him happier. He murmured a cleaning charm and captured Remus’ face between his hands, unable to get enough of touching and kissing Remus. Perhaps his greed stemmed from having wanted Remus for so long, but then again, perhaps he would never be satisfied, always wanting one more kiss, one more touch, one more whiff of Remus’ warm scent filling his nose.

Remus returned the kiss with a hum of contentment, and then he pulled back, a sated smile curving his rosy, well-kissed lips as he pulled up and straightened his clothes. “That was incredible,” he said huskily, his hand straying down the front of Severus’ shirt. “But I want more. I want to make you feel the way you make me feel. I want to watch you overwhelmed with pleasure because of me.”

Severus yanked his shirttail out of the waistband of his trousers and unfastened the shirt buttons with a swift charm, feeling little hesitation over baring himself to Remus. With anyone else, he might have been more hesitant, but he was eager to feel Remus’ hands on him.

“Then do it,” he said, lifting his chin haughtily. “It will be an easy task, I promise you that.”

A little growl escaped Remus as he watched, and then he reached out, pushing Severus’ shirt off his shoulders, his eyes fastened on Severus’ skin. “Gorgeous,” he murmured, running his hands over Severus’ chest. He brushed his thumbs over Severus’ nipples, and then he bent his head and captured the peak between his lips, nipping sharply before laving it with a broad, warm swipe of his tongue.

Severus let out a hiss of pleasure and buried the fingers of one hand in Remus’ hair, wanting to maintain contact, as if losing it even for a moment would make Remus disappear. It would be a while, he thought, before the reality sank in and he accepted that this was real and he wasn’t going to wake up and find himself alone.

Remus gave the other nipple the same attention, and then he kissed his way up Severus’ chest, taking his time about it, exploring Severus’ skin as though he were savoring every taste and touch. When he reached Severus’ neck, he nuzzled it, breathing in deeply of Severus’ scent as his hands clutched Severus’ hips.

“You smell so good,” he murmured against Severus’ skin, and Severus felt the warm slide of Remus’ tongue as he tasted him. “You taste even better.” Then he pulled back, stripping off his shirt so that he could press his bare chest to Severus’, wallowing against him with a little moan of pleasure. “I want to explore every inch of you, to feel every part of you with every part of me.”

Severus couldn’t suppress the shiver that rippled down his spine as Remus licked and nuzzled him; he’d imagined the feel of Remus’ hands and lips on his skin, but the reality was far, far better.

“You may explore all you like,” he whispered raggedly. “And so will I. We have the rest of our lives to indulge in any way we please.”

“I like the thought of that... very, very much,” Remus replied, before pressing his lips to Severus’ in a firm kiss, as though sealing the words between them as a promise. When he pulled back, he smiled wickedly, holding Severus’ eyes as he began to kiss his way down Severus’ body, lowering himself bit by bit until he was kneeling before Severus, his hands on Severus’ hips.

“For now, I want to indulge you like this,” he whispered, his hands moving to the fastenings of Severus’ trousers. Swiftly he unfastened and unzipped, then pushed the trousers and Severus’ underpants down, baring Severus to his sight. A hungry little growl rose from his throat, before he leaned forward and slowly drew Severus into the soft, wet heat of his mouth.

Severus’ skin was flushed and prickled with the heat of arousal, which bloomed into what felt like a supernova when Remus’s mouth engulfed his hard length. He was aching with need, desperate for more, and he couldn’t hold back a groan as he rested his hand on the back of Remus’ head, silently offering approval and encouragement.

Hands on Severus’ hips again, Remus took Severus in deep, and then he slowly, slowly pulled back, seeming intent on driving Severus mad. He gazed up at Severus, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, as he swirled his tongue around Severus, then drew him in again, humming with pleasure.

“You’re a damned tease,” Severus growled, tightening his fingers in Remus’ hair, although there was no real heat in his voice.

He let his head fall back, savoring the slow build of tension as Remus teased and tormented him; he had fantasized about this for years - although they had always been in his workroom or even his classroom, sometimes with Remus hidden beneath his desk for extra titillation - and now that he was experiencing it for real, he wanted to enjoy every second of it.

Remus chuckled, but he didn’t relent, continuing to move slowly, engulfing and releasing Severus as though he were enjoying himself greatly. Then he gradually began to quicken the tempo, his hands sliding around to Severus’ arse, squeezing in obvious invitation for Severus to move if he so desired. The quickened tempo was too much even for Severus’ iron will power to resist, and he did move, letting himself be caught up in burning need and cresting arousal, and Remus’ name burst from his lips as he lost himself in ecstasy, every sensation heightened almost beyond endurance by the knowledge that it was Remus touching him and giving him such pleasure.

Breathing raggedly, he sifted his fingers through Remus’ hair as he came back down from the heights, and he reached out to clutch the edge of the counter to keep himself upright on shaky legs.

“I’ve got you.” Remus rose and twined himself around Severus like a strand of supportive ivy, his hands caressing over Severus’ damp skin, a look of tenderness on his face. He lifted a hand to stroke an errant strand of hair back behind Severus’ ear, then followed with his lips, brushing kisses along Severus’ jaw. “If that was anything to go by,” Remus murmured close to Severus’ ear, “I can’t wait to see what it’s like when we actually make it to a bed. It might just kill me.”

Severus gave a snort at that, but he didn’t argue because he was having thoughts along the same lines himself. He slid his arms around Remus’ waist and leaned against him, partly for the support Remus offered and partly because he _could_.

“We will find out,” he said, “but later. For the time being, you should probably finish your tea and toast and get some rest.”

“Only if you do, too,” Remus replied. His hands continued to roam as though he couldn’t get enough of touching Severus. “I know I won’t be able to sleep if you aren’t in the bed with me; I’d be too afraid to wake up and find I’m still alone, and this was all some kind of post-transformation fantasy.”

It was somewhat reassuring to learn that Remus had the same “is this real?” doubts that Severus had, but the admission brought out Severus’ wicked side as well, and he pinched Remus’ arse hard.

“There,” he said loftily. “Does that convince you that I am real?”

A tiny, startled yelp escaped Remus, and then he laughed, tightening his arms around Severus. “Oh, yes, it helps,” he said huskily, a hint of a feral gleam in his eyes. “But perhaps I’ll need a spanking to fully convince me.”

“ _Later_ ,” Severus replied firmly. “If you don’t want your breakfast, then it’s off to bed with you, and yes, I will accompany you. You need to rest now. All explorations, spankings, and plans for the future will wait until you are recuperated from the transformation.”

Remus gave a playful pout that made him look about five years old, but then he sighed and pulled away. “Let’s take the tea upstairs, then, and have a nap.” He batted his lashes at Severus. “I think you’ll find that I recover more quickly, given proper incentive.”

Severus snorted again as he cast another cleaning charm and pulled up and fastened his trousers. “We’ll see,” he said, his expression stern. As much as he wanted to begin exploring himself, he didn’t want to push Remus to the brink of exhausted collapse on their first day together. “If nothing else, we can discuss arrangements for the future.”

“All right,” Remus agreed. He moved to the table, picking up his tea cup and the pot. “Shall we go up?”

Severus retrieved his cup and the plate of toast, and he nodded, gesturing for Remus to precede him. “Go on, then, and you had better be in bed before I get there, or there will be no spanking later.”

“Yes, sir, right away, sir!” Remus said, and then he moved with alacrity - although, Severus noted, also with a bit of stiffness - toward the stairs. He rounded the corner, but his voice came back to Severus clearly. “Just a warning... I sleep in the nude. I don’t want to shock you!”

Severus rolled his eyes, feeling fairly confident that Remus’ decision to sleep in the nude had been made about two seconds ago. “I will find a way to cope,” he called back as he made his way up the stairs, moving at a slower pace than Remus, but with no less eagerness to share the bed.


	11. Chapter 11

“I always hate to see Halloween end,” Lynne said as she unlocked the door to the house, stepping inside and flipping on the foyer light, then holding the door open for Anne. “It went well though, which is nice. Although I’m really glad I saved us a couple of those cupcakes, or else we wouldn’t be getting any at all!”

“I think people liked the Zombie Snacks and Sweeney Todd’s Surprise cupcakes best,” Anne replied as she walked in and immediately slipped off the black ballet slippers she’d worn as part of her _Beauty and the Beast_ ’s Belle costume. “But I still say the Undead Gingerbread are the best.”

“Oh, yes, I agree.” Lynne closed and locked the door, and then she sighed as she dropped her purse on the antique roll-top desk that served as a catch all for items they carried in and out frequently. She brushed her hands over the long, tight fitting skirt of iridescent green that made up the “tail” of her Little Mermaid costume. “I like dressing up. I wish we had more excuses to do it.”

“We should start going to cons again,” Anne said, doing a quick twirl that made the skirt of her blue jumper flare. “We could wear hall costumes, maybe even enter the masquerades.”

Lynne nodded, a wide smile curving her lips. “You’re right, we should,” she said firmly. “We’ve put a lot of time and effort into the business, and it can survive a weekend closing every now and then. It would be fun!” She tilted her head to one side, her expression becoming wicked. “If we do, though, I suggest we get together enough stories for a ‘zine to fund the trip. Especially since this evening offered us such wonderful inspiration for Dracula/Wolfman slash!”

“No kidding!” Anne widened her eyes theatrically as she shook her head. “Although I have to say, Stephen makes a dead sexy vampire. It looked to me like he used the Coppola movie for inspiration, and I have _no_ complaints about that.”

“Mmm... yes, he does,” Lynne replied, and then she headed toward the doorway as she continued to talk. “And Remus... I know he’s been ill, and the poor man certainly could stand to gain a few pounds, but he looked really good bare chested, especially with that collar and leash. Stephen works fast, doesn’t he? As comfortable as those two looked together, it’s hard to believe they only met few days ago!”

“Well, when you click, you click.” Anne shrugged and spread her hands before heading into the living room and flopping down on the couch. “Besides, can you blame him for closing in quick? I’d be howling at that Wolf Man myself if he wasn’t gay.”

Lynne laughed, dropping down on the other end of the couch and kicking off her purple flats. “Ah, but the fact that he’s gay is part of his attractiveness,” she said, poking Anne lightly on the arm. “I could practically see you plotting a story as you watched them!”

“It practically wrote itself!” Anne protested. “Besides, you weren’t exactly ignoring them. ‘Oh, Mr. Prince, Mr. Lupin, have a Dracula’s Bite cupcake on us!’” she said, pitching her voice higher and batting her lashes dramatically, and then ending with a derisive snort. “Please.”

“I had a practical purpose,” Lynne replied serenely, her eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. “I was hoping one of them would lick frosting off of the other.” She drew in a deep breath, putting a hand on her chest, just over the shells of her top. “Be still my heart! I think I would have melted into a useless puddle right then and there!”

Anne rolled her eyes. “You were a useless puddle without the frosting.” She paused, and then she admitted grudgingly, “That would’ve been pretty hot.”

“I knew you’d think so.” Lynne grinned. “Lucky us! I expect our writing will have a definite rise in volume in the near future.”

“As if inspiration has ever been a problem!” Anne smiled and shook her head. “It does look like they might stick around, though. I heard Stephen was seen making a pretty big purchase at the hardware store, so it sounds like he’s going to help Mr. Lupin fix up the old Whitman house.”

“I’m glad. I’d hate for us to lose Stephen’s incredible cooking, and I think he likes it here anyway,” Lynne replied. “I think it would be great if they moved in together, and maybe Mr. Lupin will start working in town. That way we’d get to see them quite a bit.”

“I wonder if he has any interest in baked goods or crafts,” Anne mused, rubbing her chin speculatively. “We could use an extra pair of hands at the shop.”

“Oh, now there’s an idea!” Lynne agreed excitedly. “And that would be to our advantage, if Stephen came over to see him.” She grinned wickedly. “Christmas is coming, you know... I think I’m going to arrange very strategic locations for some mistletoe.”

“You’re such a pervy voyeur!” Anne stared at her for a long moment. “Where exactly did you have in mind?”

Lynne laughed and rose to her feet. “Let’s go get those cupcakes, and I’ll tell you where I think would work best,” she replied, holding out a hand to help Anne up. “And as for the pervy voyeur bit... pot, kettle, you know. But that’s what makes us such a perfect pair, right?”

Anne accepted the offer of help and rose to her feet, smiling. “Of course it is. And we _are_ perfect,” she said loftily. “So you get the cupcakes - and I’ll get the new shipment of yarn that came in today. It’s a blend of silk and wool with metallic flecks that you’re going to _love_.”

“You know me too well,” Lynne replied, releasing Lynne’s hand and making a shooing motion. “Go on, then, I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes. You get first choice of cupcakes, and _I_ get first choice of the yarn colors!”

It was a fair and equitable division of cake and yarn, their two favorite things, and they adjourned, satisfied with the arrangement, with the night, and with the attractive new couple in town. All in all, it had been a happy Halloween indeed.


End file.
